I have read in the - Rebels without Because - postings about poverty. All the posts were very interesting, and so I am encouraged to share my experiences, only that I will post it here.
I am a son of a “Kargador sa Pier”, actually whenever anyone asked what his job was, my father would proudly tell the person, “I am a Porter”. My mother was a housewife. And we were seven children in the family, so literally, my father was feeding, all in all, 9 mouths. You can just imagine what sort of life that was….it would have been better if my father could “karga” everyday, but the ship that was docking in our port in the Visayas would only arrive from Manila, twice a week which means my father got work only twice a week. And in these two days that he got work, he would haggle with passengers, payment for every baggage that he would carry for them, which means that there are days that are not kind enough for his kind of job, if you understand what I mean.
We had ..none..nothing that can be called an appliance, except a kalan were to cook food, hehehe. When I was about 6 years old, I was fond of listening to a radio drama of the DZRH, “Cimatar”. To listen to the drama, I had to walk three houses away and squat close to our neighbors’ wall/stairs/house to listen. This was because we didn’t had a radio at home. That’s how poor we were. When our neighbors’ radio was not on, I had to go around the community to look for a radio that was on. That’s how an addict I was on the drama “Cimatar”. Imagine that.
TV…what do you expect? We did not had a TV; TV was a luxury beyond our imagination at that time. Well, I had a glimpse of the black and white TV in a wooden box of our neighbor, theirs had a TV cloth cover, and a wooden door – the sort that closes and opens. Hehehe. When our neighbors’ kid realizes that we were looking at their TV through the window, he would rush and close their window….depriving us, poor kids, the luxury of watching Sesame Street even just for a minute or two.
(Itutuloy, got busy with something urgent).
I am a son of a “Kargador sa Pier”, actually whenever anyone asked what his job was, my father would proudly tell the person, “I am a Porter”. My mother was a housewife. And we were seven children in the family, so literally, my father was feeding, all in all, 9 mouths. You can just imagine what sort of life that was….it would have been better if my father could “karga” everyday, but the ship that was docking in our port in the Visayas would only arrive from Manila, twice a week which means my father got work only twice a week. And in these two days that he got work, he would haggle with passengers, payment for every baggage that he would carry for them, which means that there are days that are not kind enough for his kind of job, if you understand what I mean.
We had ..none..nothing that can be called an appliance, except a kalan were to cook food, hehehe. When I was about 6 years old, I was fond of listening to a radio drama of the DZRH, “Cimatar”. To listen to the drama, I had to walk three houses away and squat close to our neighbors’ wall/stairs/house to listen. This was because we didn’t had a radio at home. That’s how poor we were. When our neighbors’ radio was not on, I had to go around the community to look for a radio that was on. That’s how an addict I was on the drama “Cimatar”. Imagine that.
TV…what do you expect? We did not had a TV; TV was a luxury beyond our imagination at that time. Well, I had a glimpse of the black and white TV in a wooden box of our neighbor, theirs had a TV cloth cover, and a wooden door – the sort that closes and opens. Hehehe. When our neighbors’ kid realizes that we were looking at their TV through the window, he would rush and close their window….depriving us, poor kids, the luxury of watching Sesame Street even just for a minute or two.
(Itutuloy, got busy with something urgent).